


Unlocked

by ApocalypseThen



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Chastity Device, F/F, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6555049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApocalypseThen/pseuds/ApocalypseThen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey's fumbling attempts to use the Force to escape the interrogation cell have unexpected consequences. It's not just the restraints that come undone... Captain Phasma does too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unlocked

Phasma strode along the corridor purposefully, her cloak billowing behind her. She was as single-minded as she was determined. She was organising the defence of Starkiller base and she was starting to be concerned that her troops would not be adequate to the task. True, the enemy were few, but they seemed to have outrageous luck. It was either that, or the First Order defence protocols had been compromised, and that didn't bear thinking about.

She came upon a group of confused troopers and barked at them for a sitrep, which she listened to with half her attention. She was getting more uneasy by the moment. Discipline was breaking down. She dispatched a runner to central control, no longer fully sure of the security of their comms, and organised the remaining troopers into a tidy defilade.

Phasma didn't suffer fools gladly, and the troopers hopped to it quickly. There might be enemies in the base, but Phasma was terrifying and much closer to hand. If they noticed her discomfort they didn't give any outward sign. She was experiencing something new that she couldn't quite understand, and was acutely vigilant of her own body language.

Her iron discipline was the only thing stopping her hand from going straight to her crotch to make sure everything was still in place. Since she had taken her vow of chastity at the temple of the First Order, the seamless belt of steel, silk, and other, more exotic components had kept her genitalia off limits. The fastening of it to her naked, kneeling form had taken a bevy of handmaidens a full hour of ritual chanting. They had tightened it to a perfect fit a fraction at a time, between the verses of their song.

Phasma remembered with a shiver how excited she had been to offer herself so completely, how her chest had thundered with pride as she was elevated to the rank of Captain. She had channeled all her energies since then into perfecting the arts of war. All for the glory of the Order.

She moved on, passing from node to node of the long corridors, trying to divine some pattern to the chaos. She wasn't sure if it was true about the Force, if some people could really see the future, or through walls. But a soldier had to be able to read a battlefield if she wanted to survive. The patterns revealed in the nervous stumble of a trooper here, the clipped chatter coming over the comm, pointed to a single source. The disturbance in her crotch grew as she recognised this, a fierce itching deafening her to the hesitant entreaties of the troopers she passed by.

Phasma turned a corner and sighted down the corridor to the interrogation room. The girl was confined there. Her crotch was a burning, impossible distraction. To be able to scratch it would feel so good. But she had no choice. She had had a few opportunities to resent her confinement in the years since she had submitted to it, but her will had always triumphed in the end. She had been tested before, and would not succumb to such an annoyance.

The chaos, the tension in the air, the interrogation room was its clear focus. Phasma was about to step into the corridor when a bolt of intense feeling made her freeze. She gripped her blaster rifle tightly, blinking back tears. Her legs quivered. Something was happening. A buoyant, intangible wave spread over her, making her skin prickle and her hair stand on end.

A cacophony of snicks and clicks sounded from all around. Panels and doors all along the corridor slid or popped open. The battery pack fell out of the butt of Phasma's rifle. As she looked down in confusion, her breastplate came loose and fell clattering to the floor, to be followed by several other pieces of her armour. Her helmet came askew and slid forward on her face.

And suddenly she felt an uncomfortable looseness around her waist. An airiness and freedom around her crotch. Her chastity device had come undone. She uttered a small cry of panic and dropped her rifle, cupping her hands between her legs, trying to force the hard steel plates to latch together again. But to no avail.

Through her panicked manipulations, Phasma barely noticed what a pleasure it was to experience pressure and friction on her mons and labia. It had been so long, the feelings could be mistaken for discomfort, even pain, they were so intense. She fell to her knees and slipped her hands into her undergarments, desperately trying to hold the belt in place. Her helmet tumbled to the floor.

Distracted by the fog of panic and the rush of new sensations, Phasma was unable to react when she saw the girl poke her head out of the interrogation room. Rey rubbed her wrists as she sighted up and down the corridor. To Phasma's shame, her hands were still in frantic motion at her crotch just as Rey's eyes fell on her.

Looking in Rey's eyes, Phasma remembered when she too had been fresh-faced and loose-limbed. That was before she had given herself to the Order. Now she was a hard, angry thing. And she was on fire, being consumed by her years of pent-up lust. She couldn't stop touching herself. Even as she told herself she was just trying to recover her composure, she knew that she was losing the battle against her body's wants.

Rey jogged towards Phasma, her face shining, openly curious. Phasma's furious wanking fell into synchrony with the slapping of Rey's sandals on the metal deck. Phasma felt the caress of Rey's inquisitive mind. She tried to impose the disciplines she had learned to deal with Jedi manipulations, but she was too distracted. She was unable to hide her shame, her desires, her jealousy of Rey's youth and hope. She felt Rey studying her, not analysing her behaviour so much as feeling the shape of her character.

"You'll never get anywhere like that," said Rey. Phasma felt her shame redouble. Rey's genuine desire to help was written in her earnest expression. If their situations had been reversed, Phasma would have taken pleasure in seeing her enemy so vulnerable. Rey knelt in front of Phasma and displaced one frantic hand with her own. "There's a trick to it." Rey found Phasma's engorged clit and explored it gently with a fingertip. Phasma threw her head back and moaned. "Bloody hell," said Rey. Phasma felt Rey encircle her huge clit with her fingertips. "You're a handful."

At the same time, she felt Rey reach out with her mind, looking to understand her better. Phasma remembered the chaos and uncertainty of her childhood after the fall of the Empire. She had turned in on herself, hewed to a rigid understanding of proper behaviour. She had craved order, but had been disappointed by the weakness of the local militias and police forces. Their loyalties were bought and sold by whoever had the most credits, they were little better than the criminal gangs they chased.

But it had been one incident in particular that had changed Phasma forever. They had barely had a half-hour of unexpected passion between them, a kiss and hasty, knee-trembling fuck against a wall followed by a promise of more. Phasma had been ready to marry her right then. With the girl's rangy thighs wrapped around her waist, she felt like the world might not be such a bad place after all. But the next Phasma saw of her, the girl was on the arm of a local tough, and wouldn't even acknowledge her.

Her heart had broken then, and never been fixed. She had slowly turned her back on her family and her name, and she grew into the new identity that the First Order gave her. She moulded herself to fit their expectations, pruned her own character of undesirable traits. Her sexuality was one of those things. The idea of a vow of chastity had suddenly seemed so logical and right. She would never be bothered by humiliation or those feelings of inadequacy again.

Phasma reached out with one arm made feeble and shaky by her overheated condition. She clasped the back of Rey's neck. Her face wrinkled in an unspoken plea. Rey seemed to understand.

"I'll stop if you really want me to," said Rey. The gentle probing of Rey's fingertips was making Phasma's nerves scream. She felt stiff everywhere from her nipples to her knees.

Tears crowded the corners of Phasma's eyes. Was it really possible? Could she get back what she had forsaken? Who was this girl, and why was she taking pity on her worst enemy?

More importantly, would she be open to an offer of marriage?

"Woah there," said Rey, as if she could see what Phasma was thinking. Rey brought her free hand up to brace against the arm that Phasma was pulling her in with. "I think you're about ready."

Rey's deft finger-work made Phasma's whole body clench and tighten. The fire burning through her was drowned by waves of icy coolness that made her convulse and shiver. Her strength returned, and she pulled Rey to her, mashing her lips into the girl's sweaty face, tasting her. It seemed to last forever, the waves of pleasure building higher and higher, washing away the years and choices. Phasma let out a high scream of satisfaction, a soldier's cry of victory.

Rey rode the waves with her, rocking in the crook of her arm. As her orgasm subsided, Phasma's grip on her neck loosened. Rey drew back. She peered inside the waistband of Phasma's trousers.

Phasma saw Rey's cheeks colour fetchingly. She stared at Rey's eyes as they flickered up towards her and then shyly away.

Rey caught her lip in her teeth. "That's... nice underwear," she said quietly.

Phasma understood. Her heart bloomed with hope and joy. She didn't know how it would come about. But she promised herself, no matter how long it took or how she had to rearrange the galaxy, it would be her that locked Rey into a belt of silk and steel, and her that made the pretty young thing beg for release.

But before then, they had parts to play. With a final affectionate smile, Rey stood and jogged off down the corridor. Phasma watched her lithe body in motion until she turned the corner. Then she gathered up her helmet and put it on to hide her lunatic smile.


End file.
